


where we need to be (isn't where we are)

by stilldeanwinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester, Canon Compliant, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Jealous Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Morning Sex, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Rough Sex, Sam Winchester is So Done, Season/Series 15 Spoilers, Top Castiel (Supernatural), Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Wall Sex, castiel doesn't understand humanity but hes trying, laughs evilly, pre 15x18
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:34:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28060989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilldeanwinchester/pseuds/stilldeanwinchester
Summary: in which dean winchester finds out who he's supposed to be.orin which castiel learns what it really means to be human.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Gabriel/Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	1. lamia suck (and here's why)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are not very sure where this is going, but enjoy !! some commentary and such at the end :D

the motel they’re at is nice.

it’s not _amazing_ , but it’s nicer than the peeling paint walls and hard as brick mattresses they usually get. the beds are squishy, but not too much so, and dean heaves a sigh already missing his own memory foam mattress at the bunker. the counters aren’t layered in stains, and this motel has a genuine, functional fucking kitchen. it’s not huge, but it’s functional, and that’s more than enough for dean. they have smaller fridges, but there are these little fucking _candies_ in them, in pretty glass bowls. _free candies_. 

they’re completely gone an hour into dean’s stay, and he really, _really_ doesn’t know what to do with himself.

sam’s still at the bunker, he won’t be there until the next morning, and—well, dean’s starting to find the ceiling _really_ fucking boring. he’s been messing with one of the loose threads on the comforter for the past 20 minutes, has been zoning out for a little less than that, and… at first, when he laid back, he was looking at the textured ceiling, trying to see if he could make nay designs out of the bumpy things, but— that got pretty boring, pretty quick.

should he go out for a drink? 

he thinks for a second, thinks about how much fun it’s been to go out for drinks with newly-human cas. 

he can’t hold even a beer for the _life_ of him. 

dean has found himself staring at cas whenever they go out together, noting how his cheeks get pinker within minutes, how giggly he gets. dean can’t remember the last time he saw angel of the lord, stick-up-his-ass castiel break out into a laughter fit. it makes him happy, knowing that castiel is happy. he’s quite enjoying his human form, this time around. 

but—

dean isn’t sure well how _cas_ is handling humanity the second time around. he had lost his grace in a fight with some of naomi’s soldiers—apparently, they still had _beef_ with him—but other than that? dean doesn’t know what went down, how the dominoes toppled. he and sam were tracking down some vamps that night, so he couldn’t be there to _help_ cas during the fight, but… he remembered what happened after. 

cas and jack came back to the bunker _late_ that night, a good few hours after sam and dean had returned from their hunt. neither cas nor jack were answering their cells, and—dean was so, so fucking scared that they just… weren’t gonna come back.

he had been pacing back and forth, winding around the map table, when the door swung open. 

they had looked like _shit_ , and dean was scared, so fucking scared one of them was dead, that one of them had to drag a corpse back home. cas was slumped against jack, barely holding himself up and— there was blood streaked down his face— _so_ much blood. he was fucking littered in little cuts, and his once-white button-down was soaked in crimson. god, was that his blood? was he hurt? was it _fatal_? 

jack was a little dirty, a little bruised, but he looked alright, was mumbling about how cas needed _help_ , how he couldn’t heal them. 

he remembers how fast he moved, how he almost tripped up the stairs on the way to help him.

he was hauling him up and holding him close, practically carrying him down the stairs because— the angel’s legs were so shaky, barely stable enough to keep him upright. but dean wasn’t even thinking about that, needed to make sure his best friend was alive, that he was going to survive, and—

he remembers asking cas what had happened when he leaned him on the map table, and then cas was laying back, slumping back in defeat and dean _saw_ it, saw the little slit just beneath his adam’s apple and— he just _knew_ , realized what was happening, why he looked so gone, so defeated.

cas was _human_. 

dean didn’t leave his side that night, but— he couldn’t even if he wanted to. he had fallen asleep with his head on dean’s shoulder, and they’d slowly moved so his face was pressed against dean’s chest, arms wound comfortably around his waist. cas was alright, jack had said, that “his human vessel couldn’t take the strain of the fight” or whatever. 

that was a difficult night for dean, too.

he spent the night holding cas, repeating over and over in his head that he was going to be _alright_ , but he couldn’t seem to shake the looming feeling of dread. he can’t even fucking _imagine_ what it would be like to lose cas again, to experience that grief again.

sam left a sandwich for him, but he had forgotten about it by the time it had gone cold, and cas was still asleep on him, he— he couldn’t bear to wake him. 

cas had awoken at around 5:40— dean remembers ‘cause he’d been trying to distract himself by naming as many types of cheese as he could—he had only thought of 16 when cas started to stir. he was trying to think of that one cheese, the one that starts with _g_ , and the second he was about to get it— cas moved, made a low, _human_ noise, and dean tried to pretend he hadn’t been coddling him for hours.

it was a little embarrassing— they never, ever show affection like this. of course, sometimes there’s pats on the back, a little bit of face-holding, but— never like this. 

and the way cas looked _up_ at him, the way his eyes were heavy with sleep, the way they looked so unbelievably _human_ …

adjusting to cas being human again wasn’t as bad as dean had thought it would be. they did sort of have to teach him about different types of food again, but— they were pleasantly surprised to find that cas had remembered a lot of his humanity from his first go-around. 

it was all… weirdly normal. 

dean’s always had a bit of a staring problem with cas, but now that he was human, it was so, so much worse. now that he couldn’t just… magick his clothes to be clean, he wasn’t always in that same outfit. he would lounge around the bunker in loose clothes and shirts that showed his collarbones and, _god_ , it was too much for dean sometimes. he had never really allowed himself to think about cas like that, always pushing it to the back of his mind to deal with later but never opening that jar up again. dean had also never quite allowed himself to think about guys that way in general, is cas even a dude? was a dude? but now that cas is lounging around, looking so _normal…_ once, dean had run into him after a shower, stood in the middle of the kitchen with no shirt and a bag of chips and— _god_ , that night was just—

fuck.

yeah, he should go get that drink. 

  
  


* * *

it’s dark out when dean gets back from the bar. 

he doesn’t know how long he’s been out, doesn’t remember half of the night, but -- he was sober when he woke up, and that’s enough of a sign. the drive home was short, but tiring, and he almost fell asleep on one of the straight-shot roads, zoned out looking at the dark night ahead. 

he shouldn’t have had so much to drink, _fuck_.

his head is pounding when he rounds the corner into the motel parking lot, and he’s haphazardly parking baby in the first spot he sees open, throwing her into park as carefully as he can before resting his forehead on the wheel. he doesn’t want to get out, feels too heavy to even lift his head. for a second he really debates crawling into the backseat of the car, curling up and sneaking in in the morning, but…

its the dead middle of january—it’s fucking freezing out—and the impala doesn’t… do the best job of keeping heat. 

his teeth are chattering just sitting in the driver's seat, curled up a little. fuck. he should go inside, he knows it, but he opens the door and realizes he’s shaking. dean rubs his hands together when the cold air hits him. fuck, he might love the cold and bundling up in more jackets than necessary, but it’s a _bitch_ when he’s not prepared for it.

now he has to remember which room they’re in.

sometimes the numbers stick together in his head, they have a few room numbers that they always stick to, just for consistency, but… it can still get confusing. he has to try a few different doors, cursing under his breath each time the key doesn’t fit in the lock. sam usually gets bitchy when he forgets, but--

when the door finally opens, it’s.. 

“cas?” he’s shivering hard, rushing in, and he realizes how small he sounds, and feels a little uncomfortable. he hates his resting voice, clears his throat a little as he rubs his arms up and down, trying to produce some warmth. “the hell are you doing here?”

cas is standing there like an idiot, his long coat crumpled, a little dirty in some places. 

“sam told me he got a lead on the case…” cas let out the words slowly, as if he were thinking hard about what to say, how to say it. “he doesn’t believe this lamia killing will be too difficult. he’s stocking up on supplies— he said he’d leave some gear for you in his motel room. he also stated we can probably get it ‘over and done with’ in the morning.” cas uses air quotes to quote sam and a ghost of a smile graces dean lips. he loves it when cas does that, it makes him feel all fuzzy, makes him want to let out a big, full-bellied laugh.

“okay, yeah,” dean’s brows are furrowed, eyes scanning back and forth trying to process the information as best he can in the state he’s in. “but i thought you were staying at the bunker? keeping an eye on jack—wait, where _is_ he?” 

“jack is fine.” cas sighs. “i left him alone with some lore to read up in case something goes wrong with the lamia, but i don’t think he’ll cause any trouble. sam didn’t know where you were. we couldn’t reach you, and— well…” cas trails off, staring at the wall just behind dean.

“i don’t need a babysitter, cas,” he’s appreciative for their concern, but— he’s a big boy, he can fend for himself.

he glances at the clock, and—

holy _shit_ , it’s 3:34 am. dean hadn’t even realized he was out that late, he must have passed out at the bar for a few hours, and he doesn’t even know when exactly he fell asleep. fuck, he’s so tired, he just wants to cave in and lean on cas and let himself sleep, but… he turns away towards the bed and grabs some of his comfortable clothes from his pack. he just wants to _sleep_ right now, he can deal with everything later, much like he does everything else. he tosses the pajama pants over his shoulder and starts to rummage around for the soft shirt he always sleeps in. 

“we were _worried_ , dean! and it looks like we had a reason to,” cas sounds upset, dean isn’t used to him acting so… human. so emotional. it’s a bit unusual. “you reek of alcohol. did you drive under the influence?”

dean stops, whips around with the shirt in his hands and steps towards cas, who seems to shrink back slightly, eyes widening. 

“i woke up _sober_ , cas. besides, it’s— it’s not your _fucking problem_ what i’m doing.” dean spits at him, a little meaner than he meant to, but— he doesn’t correct himself, pushes past cas to get to the bathroom. it’s not like he’s constantly trying to be angry… it just happens. he hates himself for not being able to control it, especially when he’s tired. there’s always too much going on and the more things dean has to push away and bottle up, the snappier he gets. he heaves a sigh and looks up at himself in the bathroom mirror, studying his reflection. 

the bathroom is quiet, and the mirror is somewhat dirty, a little warped.

he doesn’t really recognize the person staring back at him.

he’s been through a lot, and… it figures, people with trauma tend to have a skewed sense of themselves, but for him— it’s a lot, and it makes him feel almost empty, almost like he isn’t himself anymore. sometimes he thinks he’s a completely different person than he was before. cas used to notice when he was off, used to be able to tap him on the head and make him feel a little better, pump him full of that stupid angelic serotonin shit. but now cas is human, and it’s not his fault that he’s human, bu—

dean’s only healthy fix dive bombed, and now he’s willing to try… anything. drinking seemed to be the solution tonight. 

the motel bathroom isn’t disgusting, but it’s far from great. there are some indiscernible beige stains on the tile, and he’s scared to look too closely at the shower curtains. he pries himself away from the mirror and leans into the clean part of the wall with a sigh. his chest feels heavy. he shouldn’t have snapped at cas like that, he feels… horrible. he’s been a _dick_ . all cas wants to do is help. he’s just trying his best, right? goddamn it. dean can’t even begin to imagine what the guy is going through, having to adjust to being human only to feel emotions more, _human_ emotions and getting snapped at for something that wasn’t under his control. dean doesn’t know how to go about an apology. 

he shakes his head, pulls off his shirt and tries to think of other things, tries to calm himself down.

the case, maybe? okay. fuck.

he racks his brain for details about this case— sam had been rambling earlier this morning about it. there was greek lettering carved into each of the victims, the same one on the chest of each, and there was a hole in the abdomen beneath the rib cage, leading straight to the heart. at first they had thought it was some sort of ritualistic werewolf— the heart was missing, completely ripped out-- but, after some research on heart-eating creatures, they realized it was a lamia.

dean toes his shoes off, then his jeans, sifting through the information they’d gathered on the case on the lamia and why it might be here. his pajama pants are big on him, and they cover his feet when he’s standing upright. he internally curses himself for not packing his hot dogs one because damn it those fit him better, but at least he’ll be comfortable for the night. 

lamia are relatively easy to kill if you have access to rosemary and a lighter, but if you dont… you need a silver knife, blessed by a priest. dean’s sighing, running through the facts as he gathers up his clothes, unlocks the door and pushes his way out of the bathroom.

“dean?” 

dean snaps his gaze up to meet castiel’s. cas is sitting on the bed, hair slightly ruffled. he’s changed out of his suit and is practically drowning in one of dean’s old ac/dc shirts. where’d he even get that from? doesn’t matter.

“i just…” cas hesitates, hands kneading the fabric of his sweatpants, picking at the fabric. dean’s noticed that cas likes to fiddle with things like this, likes to have something to do with his hands. he looks… adorable. dean stops a little, blinks. what the fuck? he looks—he looks like cas. _adorable_ isn’t the right word. 

“i wanted to apologize. i know you always have everything under control and i.. i didn't mean to come off as an authoritative figure. i always have faith that you know what you’re doing, dean. i hope you know that. i… i’m sorry. i hope you aren’t upset with me.” 

dean continues to stare at him. he doesn’t know what to fucking _say_ . _he_ should be the one apologizing, not cas.

say something. anything, dumbass. _fuck_ . he feels stupid, it isn’t usually this difficult for him to find words, but he.. he _can’t_ , he hates to admit he’s wrong normally, but right now…. something’s holding him back. he’s upset with himself and stands there for a second, with parted lips and wide eyes.

“i…” dean takes a shaky step forward, drops his old clothes on the floor beside the bed. “you… don’t— don’t apologize, cas. i shouldn’t have…. snapped on you like that, i’m.. i’m sorry. i’m just.. tired, and i’m irritable, and--” dean sits down on the bed, his shoulder knocking against castiel’s. “you… you need to stop apologizing for things that aren't your fault, cas.”

he stops at that, pats cas on the shoulder, gets up and goes over to his bag to grab his laptop. dean can feels cas’s eyes on him as he sorts through his duffel. dean’s muscles are tensed, waiting, _anticipating_ an answer, but the room remains silent. right.

“i’m gonna sleep, but— do you wanna watch a movie?” 

though dean would never admit it, but he falls asleep much easier when someone else is there, and he’s taken a liking to falling asleep while a movie’s playing on his computer. it’s not the same as company, but… it always helps, at least a little. it gets the job done. he opens his laptop, sets it on the bed and climbs under the covers, shoots cas an awkward grin, trying his best to seem normal. casual.

cas looks at dean for a second, his eyebrows still furrowed, then nods. he turns his attention to the screen as dean begins to click through netflix. for a moment dean thinks cas is gonna say something, but cas remains silent, staring intently at the screen. dean’s probably thinking into it too much. 

he decides on one of the more classic movies, something he watched with sam about a bazillion when they were teenagers. indiana jones: raiders of the lost ark. cas doesn’t bat an eye, and dean wonders if he actually wants to watch the movie, if he’s impartial or just doing it to make dean feel better. 

they watch in silence for a while, a few comments about the plot here and there, some idle comments about the characters from cas. he definitely hasn’t seen this movie before. out of the corner of his eye he sees cas’s head tipping down a little, then jerking back up. he’s falling asleep. just as indy on screen makes the switch of the golden idol with the sandbag, dean feels a weight on his shoulder. he spares a glance, silently praying it’s just the pillows adjusting oddly and not a gigantic bug crawling up his sleeve. he’s surprised when he looks over and sees cas leaning against him, eyes shut, a peaceful look on his face.

dean doesn’t really know why, but he pauses and looks back down at cas as the movie plays.

he has long eyelashes, dean notices. they’re dark and curved perfectly, settle on his cheeks just right. his face is littered with faint freckles, the type of freckles you don't notice until you look really close, until you’re looking _for_ something like that. they’re light and practically blend in with his skin tone, but dean thinks they’re perfect. cas’s hair had gotten a little longer as well, his angel mojo not keeping it the same length anymore or whatever. his pretty brown curls almost reach his cheeks now, tumble over his forehead in thin, smooth waves. he’s…. beautiful, a perfect example of angelic. he’d… never noticed these things about him, never seen him look so peaceful without his grace.

a loud crash in the movie snaps him out of his weird little trance, and he almost yelps, jolts a little.

what the… fuck? god, he must be really tired to be thinking of _cas_ like that. maybe he is drunk. 

his face is warm, and he’s praying that cas stays asleep, stays quiet and dormant and _stops_ affecting dean like this. he doesn’t understand why he’s thinking like this. he tries to tune back into the movie as indy takes off in the airplane, but… he isn’t really paying attention anymore. dean’s head starts to feel heavy as he watches the screen, and he leans back against the headboard, squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. he starts thinking of past hunts, the wins and the losses. his mind wanders a bit, strays from the serious thoughts to soft hands on his face, in his hair. to cool blue eyes and rosebud lips and a magical touch. 

before he knows it, he’s asleep. 

* * *

sunlight pours in through the open blinds. the sun hadn’t been a _problem_ last night, they had forgotten to close them and— fuck, it was bright. dean pries his eyes open, hisses and shuts them again. sleep. he _needs_ sleep, can feel the exhaustion yanking him down, anchoring him to the bed. he hums, curls closer to the nice, comfortable warmth beneath him. he smiles, allowing the brief moments of pleasantness, the vulnerability he so rarely gets.

the warmth moves. 

oh _hell_ no, absolutely fucking not. damn it, don’t let the bed be cursed. he really, _really_ doesn’t have the fucking time to deal with that right now. 

he pries his eyes back open, ignoring his body’s futile attempts to get him to stay asleep, to keep his eyes shut for as long as he can possibly manage. his heart nearly falls out of his ass when his eyes adjust. he sees shades of blue, clouded with sleep, with concern. there’s skin and freckles and dean can see individual eyelashes, can see smile lines and pores and—

“hello, dean.” cas’s voice is _deep,_ more gravelly than usual and dean sucks in a breath, tries to ignore the pang of _something_ in his stomach.

“h—ey…” dean’s voice cracks a bit, and he’s frozen, doesn’t know what the fuck he just woke up to. he has one leg wedged in between cas’s thighs, an arm draped over his waist. they’re… so close together, and dean’s so…. comfortable. he’s got his hand tucked beneath cas’s waist, the other hand splayed on the side of his torso, pulling them closer together, keeping them close. he must still be asleep. that _has_ to be what’s happening. right? _right?_

cas must be just as confused as dean is, judging by the pink tinting the former angel’s cheeks.

dean opens his mouth to say something, but before he can get a single word out— there’s a loud knock on the door. dean jerks away for the second time that morning, tumbling back off of the bed, taking the bedsheets with him. he hits the floor with a hollow thud, letting out a weak little yelp. he just woke up, and already his ass is gonna be bruised. fun.

“dean?” cas’s voice sounds small and far away from the bed, and dean slumps back onto the floor, wondering if he should even try to get out of this tangle of sheets. 

“i’m fine!” dean calls from his position on the floor, thrashing around in the bedding and trying to stand up. he only trips twice as he makes his way to the door, being careful to not make eye contact with cas as he crosses the room. they can talk later. dean brings his eye to the peephole and almost yelps when he sees his brother standing on the other side. fuck.

he should open the door, let sam in and hear about the case but— what if sam’s weird about it? about the fact that cas stayed the night. and there’s only one bed in the motel room. and cas is… _in_ that one bed. dean looks over his shoulder to where cas is to assess the damage. cas is blinking back at him, hair sticking out every which way and dean might be imagining it but fuck there looks like there’s a dean-shaped imprint on the bed where he had been laying next to him.

fuck, dean might be overthinking it, but he really considers just ignoring sam. _really_ considers it. it wouldn't be the first time he did that, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but… he unlocks the door, yanks it open and cowers from the direct sunlight.

“dude, it’s 2 pm. did you… just wake up?” sam steps into the room, his laptop bag hanging haphazardly off of his shoulder, the pockets stuffed with books and papers.

“shut up,” dean says, forces his voice to be deep. “d’you find anything on the case?” dean stumbles away from the open door, trying to wipe the exhaustion from his eyes, patting his face to try to wake himself up a bit more. he hears the click of the door shutting, the sound of the lock sliding back into place. it’s instinct, at this point.

“yeah, uh…” sam sets his bag on the little motel dinner table, pulls out his laptop with a sigh. he hasn’t said anything about the single bed yet, hasn’t even noticed that cas is still curled up on the mattress. right where dean had been. “so, we know lamia have a taste for the blood, like, _directly_ from human hearts, right? the last one we saw left markings in the victims, but these ones are different,” sam types in his password, opens up his computer to a bunch of different lore sites, turning the laptop so that dean can see the screen from where he’s standing.

“the, uh… the greek lettering.” dean runs a hand through his hair. god, he needs to shower.

“yeah. the victims are picked up at bars it seems like, and… there isn’t really any consistency with where the bodies were found, one was in the house, another in a car on the side of the road. but they had the same greek character carved into their chest,” sam’s brows are furrowed in concentration, and dean’s only half listening, staring at the wall, trying to look anywhere but cas.

sam keeps talking, rambling to no one about the case, and dean’s rummaging through his pack, pulling out a new flannel and picking his jeans up from the floor, and walks into the bathroom without saying anything. sam probably won’t even notice he left. he avoids the mirror when he gets in there, strips off his pajama pants and steps into his jeans. 

he keeps thinking of cas, how… warm he was. how nice he looked when they woke up. he feels weird, feels his nerves are twisting around in his stomach, buzzing and trembling and getting tighter. he doesn’t like it.

the day goes slow, so-- _so_ fucking slow, and they… act like they always do, work on the case normally. cas is … quiet, though. he contributes, but only in little ways, when he’s needed, when they’ve found that they don’t know what else to do with their evidence. dean’s quiet, too.

they don’t end up finding the monster. they don’t even get _close_.

“i’m gonna see what else i can find on the lamia,” sam looks exhausted when he gets out of the car, running a hand through his hair. “did you wanna order from that burger place we drove by?”

“sure,” dean mumbles, his mind elsewhere. he climbs out of the drivers seat and cas follows suit, closing the door to the impala quietly. dean gets upset when the doors are closed too hard, too loud. and castiel could _not_ handle dean being angry at him, not now, not tonight. sam pauses at his motel room, looking at dean with a questioning look on his face. when dean doesn’t say anything else, sam turns to look at cas, eyebrows raised so high he’s surprised they aren’t touching his fucking hairline.

cas sighs, “we’ll order the food.” sam nods, turns his key in the lock, and heads inside his room.

dean pushes the door to his motel room open, groans and flops onto the bed with a little noise, a little grunt. it had been a while since they had an easy lead, and although the case may not be as easy as they thought, sam and dean had decided to splurge a bit. two different motel rooms, one for each of them. cas wasn’t part of the original plan. 

dean thanks his past self for talking sam into this because he doesn’t want to even let himself think about what would happen with all three of them sharing a room. maybe dean could have slept on a couch or something… 

“dean?” cas’s calm, collected voice interrupts his thoughts. “would you like to choose a burger?” 

dean lifts his head off the mattress, not bothering to move the rest of his body. cas is back in the trenchcoat, seated at the edge of the motel’s chair, tapping his foot. 

“i’ll have the usual. if they have any interesting looking fries i’ll get those too.” cas nods, clicking a few times on the computer.

“what are… tater tots?” dean can practically _hear_ cas’s head tilt in his words. though cas had been on earth for quite a long time as an angel, he had missed out on lots of small details, food being one of them. of course he knew what burgers and pancakes were, dean had made _damn_ sure of that, but cas had never been in the position to really…care. about any of it. the few times dean had made him try different foods, cas would always grumble something about how the molecules didn’t go together, how they taste too _cosmic_.

“they’re, uh… potatoes,” dean says, “you’ll like them.” 

cas nods from his position in front of the laptop and clicks again. 

the food arrives quickly and dean drops sam’s burger and fries off at his room. they eat in silence, cas still sitting at the table and dean on the bed. they still don’t mention the incident from this morning. 

once they’re full, dean texts sam, telling him they’re going out. 

_where?_ sam texts back.

_just a bar, i saw a few on our way in._ dean types back, picking up his jacket from its place on the floor and glances at cas, who meets his eyes. 

_ok_

_don’t stay out too late_

_more lamia work tomorrow_

_don’t drink too much_

dean rolls his eyes and pockets his phone. “cas? ya coming?”

“where?” 

“out.” 

cas follows dean out into the parking lot, shuts the motel door behind them with a dejected little grunt.

he slides into the passenger seat next to dean, doesn’t make any comments about how dean didn’t reach to turn on the music for once. they drive in silence, leaving the pair alone with their thoughts. 

dean parks outside of a small bar with a half lit-up sign, his tie hanging loose around his neck. the bar is loud, and there’s people chattering away inside. some sort of pop-rock song is playing in the background. it might be nirvana, sounds like the singer, but dean doesn’t recognize this song. huh. 

he waves down the bartender and settles down on one of the stools. cas sits down behind him and dean winces as cas’s stool makes a loud squeaking sound. 

“two beers,” dean grumbles, leaning hard on his elbows on the surface bar, trying to block out the music, the smells, the voices. yeah it was his decision to come here but for once the sound and noises aren’t drowning out his thoughts. he isn’t even sure if cas wants a beer, but— if cas doesn’t drink it then it’s just more for him, right? 

a few moments pass, and dean feels dizzy, like he’s just woken up from a sleepless night. he fucking _hates_ this feeling.

“are you alright?” dean hadn’t even realized he had his head buried in his hands, and he glances up at cas, blinking hard. the ex-angel has picked up the beer, is holding it in one hand like it’s a bottle of fucking apple juice. 

ah, he’d forgotten. cas doesn't have that angelic metabolism anymore. 

“what? yeah, i—i’m fine.” he brushes him off. like he fucking _always_ does. 

cas looks at him, studying him. observing cautiously. 

“no, you’re not.” cas’s voice softens a little, but dean takes no notice of it. 

dean takes a swig of his beer, almost coughs because it was a little too much. “cas. i’m _fine._ ” 

cas is about to protest when a woman slides into the seat next to dean. she flashes him a big smile, lip gloss shining unusually bright beneath the shitty, cheap lights. 

“hey, i—“ she starts, then stops, smile falling a little, “oh, i— am i interrupting something?” the girl glances between dean and cas, her eyes lingering on dean for a moment too long. cas’s grip on the beer bottle tightens. if he still had his grace, dean’s certain the bottle would be a pile of glass by now. 

“no, ‘course not.” dean smiles back at her. 

she’s fit, has extra meat in all the right places, and dean can appreciate that. she’s got a pretty face, looks like every other woman at the bar, but dean needs a distraction, needs something to do with his fucking _hands_ , and he’s down for anything with a pretty girl. 

anything.

“i just wanted to say,” she says, voice _too_ full of emotion, too forceful, “you look _really_ good in that jacket. your arms really… pop.” 

god, she sounds so fake, and cas wants to yank her away by the fucking curls, tell her she can’t talk to dean anymore. he just .. doesnt want her to. he wants her to take her fake compliments and her fake breasts and _leave._

she keeps talking, and cas tries to focus on his beer, using that as a distraction like he’s dean do too many times to count. there’s that same, human warmth in the pit of his stomach as the alcohol begins to seep in, and soon the beer’s empty, and he’s ordering one of the fancy drinks, one of the ones with an umbrella that looks pretty on the menu. he hopes dean’s gonna pay for that, hopes he doesn’t say anything about it being _girlish_ or something. though.. cas would take that over being completely ignored. dean was the one who brought cas here in the first place, he's in no shape to fucking complain. but...

there’s something off about this girl.

she’s just trying to please dean, isn’t imposing her own opinion on him, and— cas swears, for a second, that her eyes glow white. it could’ve been a reflection, could've been a shine from one of the lights in the bar, but they’re so dim that it just … didn’t make sense.

and then it hits him.

lamia take the form of _young women_ in order to seduce young men— _capable_ men. the victims the lamia they had been tracing had all been tall, well-built men. all looked scarily similar to… 

“dean.”

he’s trying to keep calm as to not alert the creature, but— dean’s too distracted, watching the girl speak, enthralled in some story about when she lost her dog or something. he sighs. is dean just… going to keep ignoring him? all fucking day? 

cas’s fancy drink is empty now, and his eyes can’t keep up with his mind. he’s a little… tipsy, yet another thing he isn’t used to that comes with being human. fuck, humans are weak.

“i’m going outside.” he leaves his empty glass on the bar, makes a b-line for the front door. there’s people, so many voices, and for a moment he’s reminded of angel radio. he thinks back to the times when the voices became too much, back to when he stole that angel’s grace and was completely overwhelmed by all the talking. he’d become obscenely human— _is_ human— and he can’t process that, even now. 

he startles when a man bumps into him, the stench of tequila and cigarettes swallowing him whole.

he can’t get to the door fucking fast enough, and the moment he gets outside, he heaves a sigh, gulping down the cool air like he’s been holding his breath for an hour. he still hasn’t grown accustomed to his human reactions to things, doesn’t understand anxieties or panic, but now that he _feels_ it, all he wants is for it to fucking stop.

he fishes his phone out of his coat pocket, hurriedly pressing the button marked “2”, sighing when he sees sam’s name pop up on the screen, followed by “ _calling…_ ”. he’s had them on speed dial ever since he was given a phone. dean’s always been the first button. he calls dean much more often, enjoys hearing his voice more.

“hey, cas. what’s up?” is the first thing sam says when he answers the phone, and cas— doesn’t know what to say, how to reply. 

“i—dean’s—i think the, the lamia is _here_ ,” he’s rambling, half of his words are incoherent because he doesn’t know what he’s saying, “can you—can you get the stuff and come here, i—he won’t _listen_ to me, sam. i’m worried.”

“oh _shit_ , okay, um—” there are some scrambling noises, and sam must be getting up, grabbing cas’s keys, “which bar are you at? i'll be there in 5.” 

he tells sam the name of the bar, and then the call’s over, and it’s silent again. so fucking quiet. he can still hear the people inside, but out here…. it’s empty.

cas thinks he might be panicking, thinks about how he just left dean in there, just up and fucking _left_ him with a lamia practically down his pants. but then he thinks about the girl, the way she was looking at him, talking to him like he was hers. that’s never bothered him before, so— _why now_? is he jealous? he can’t be, they don’t… have anything. between them. right? 

most of all.. he’s _mad_.

he knows he deserves more than this, at least that’s what he keeps trying to tell himself. he doesn’t understand why dean can’t get that through his thick, perfect fucking head. god, cas clenches his fists at his sides, his phone still on one hand and if he had his grace, if he wasn’t so painfully fucking human—that phone would be dust and the ground would be shaking and he would _make_ dean hear him, would make him understand, make him feel what cas felt. the alcohol in his system makes him feel stupid, like these feelings aren’t real, like they’re just… part of the influence. 

he’s never been properly, human drunk before, and… this has to be part of it, right? 

fuck.

the voices from inside the bar grow loud and for a second he’s back in heaven, back to being an angel and hearing prayers and feeling nothing.

then he hears the door swing shut, hears the sound of a throat clearing, and—

it’s dean. 

cas takes a heavy breath, tries to ignore the way his stomach drops when he sees that there’s lipstick residue on dean’s mouth, the same color that the girl was wearing. his hair is a little mussed, and on one side, his collar’s flipped up the wrong way. he wasn’t out of the bar for more than 10 minutes, and they’d already been all over each other. cas rolls his eyes, _hard_ , almost laughs. figures.

“you okay, dude?” dean asks like he doesn’t smell like that woman, like her disgusting, flowery, fruity perfume.

“no, dean. i’m not.” he doesn’t offer a reason, doesn’t fucking _want_ to, “we’re leaving.” 

he needs to leave, needs to get out of here, needs to get that lamia bitch away from dean and his green eyes and his stupid, perfect face. and his smile— _god_ , that smile. he doesn’t even question why the lamia hadn’t taken dean, maybe dean found someone else and started ignoring her too. he wants so fucking badly to go home, to be back at the bunker in his room. alone. in the quiet.

“hey, whoawhoa, _what_?” dean sounds… confused. is he really unaware? 

“what are we _hunting_ , dean? huh?” he pitches around, steps so close to dean that he hopes, if he talks loud enough, dean might actually _hear_ him. “you should see the signs, dean! you of _all_ people, should see it.”

“are you _drunk_ , cas?”

“leaving. now.” castiel’s reaching forward, grabbing dean by the bicep and starting to walk towards the car. he just wants them to get out, might be going about this the wrong way but he-- he doesn’t know what the fuck else to do! sam’s on his way, and dean was about to get himself killed just because he wanted some ass, and— he just wants to be back, wants to go back to when dean was sleeping this morning. he looked so fucking _peaceful_. cas misses that.

dean’s… what did he do? he doesn’t have any clue, he thinks maybe cas is just a little emotional because of the alcohol, a little sensitive maybe. cas’s grip on his arm is so tight, too tight, and dean hates the way it comforts him, hates the way he relishes in the feeling.

cas yanks the car door open, pushes dean towards it with a bit more force than necessary, then walks around the car, gets in without a word.

“drive.”

so he does.

the drive home is awkward, too quiet, and every time dean so much as _breathes_ , cas wants to yell. he doesn’t know how he’s gonna knock some fucking sense into him, doesn’t want to cross a line, but he-- he can’t think about losing dean, not right now.

they get back to the motel in a couple minutes, and dean doesn’t move for a second, turns to say something bitchy to cas, something about him being an angry drunk. he opens his mouth to speak, but cas is already out of the car, closing the door. dean’s.. a little worried. cas had a tendency to be sullen, to be quiet in times of stress, but it’s never… _this_ much.

“cas, what—what’s wrong with you tonight, man?” 

he’s rushing out of his car, to where cas is desperately unlocking the motel room, moving inside as fast as he can. dean’s safe now, at least. that’s what matters. but dean’s talking loudly after him, repeating the same question, rambling about how he can’t handle his alcohol, how he needs to slow down the drinking.

he catches up when cas gets the motel door open, follows him in too closely, talks too loud and the second the ex-angel hears the door click shut he’s stopping in his tracks.

“dude, what’s your fucking problem tonight? what’s wro—”

cas whirls around, and then dean’s back is colliding with the wall, so hard that the wind is knocked out of him.

they’re _millimeters_ apart, and cas’s breathing is loud, _warm_ , chest heaving with every inhale. he’s pushing on dean’s shoulders with one forearm, a little too high to be his chest, but there’s a subtle pressure on dean’s throat that makes his stomach flip and curl.

“cas—” dean chokes out. he opens his mouth, sucking in a breath he didn’t know he was holding. he tries to spill out other words, say something, _anything_. his mind is short-circuiting and all he can focus on is cas’s forearm pressing him back further and further into the motel’s wall. 

“you never fucking _listen_ , dean!” he talks too loud, his body pushing forward a little with emphasis and he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, shoving dean further into the wall, “you _ignore_ me, act like i’m inferior, and then get _mad_ ? what the fuck is _your_ problem, dean?” cas’s arm is pressing at dean’s windpipe, practically fucking crushing it, but there’s a shift in dean’s demeanor, a change that cas is too upset to notice. “i just want you to _hear_ me! you never fucking _hear me_.”

dean’s head is getting heavy, and he opens his mouth, trying to speak. nothing but a cracky, high-pitched noise comes out. he doesn’t recognize it.

cas thinks dean’s shaking, can’t tell what he’s feeling but he— he can’t help it, his gaze flickers down to dean’s mouth. he loves his mouth, loves how it moves, how it looks. cas always has the urge to reach out, to touch his mouth, trace his lips with a fingertip. he didn’t understand that urge, hasn’t understood it since it began. he had always been so attached when he was an angel, but now that he was human… all his senses were heightened, his fingers tingling to reach out and run his fingers over dean’s lips, his neck, to wrap his arms around his waist. 

then it hits him, and he’s leaning in a little, wants to feel those lips with his own, but—

dean’s _faster_ than him, beats him to it and then they’re _kissing_ , and it’s good and pure and castiel can feel dean’s legs give out a little. he’s grappling onto cas’s coat, pulling him closer, and cas doesn’t know how he went so long without this, without this feeling, this spark. god, it’s so, so good.

cas pulls away, dean chasing after his mouth, a little noise bubbling up from the back of his throat. but cas is leaning away, eyes on deans lips still, noticing how red and swollen they had gotten, glistening with saliva. cas slowly looks up to meet dean’s gaze. 

dean lets out a breath because, _fuck,_ cas looked so good. 

hair unkempt, too long, too messy, tie askew, cheeks flushed. dean lets out a noise that resembled something in between a laugh and a moan and then they were leaning in again. 

cas’s lips are on his neck, sucking, licking, tracing every crevice. dean shivers as cas trails his hands along dean’s chest, keeping him upright against the wall. 

they’re down on his waist in less than a second, and he’s shoving him back into the wall, lifting him a little this time, smiling because, to cas, he’s so fucking easy to move around even without his grace it’s funny.

and dean’s breathless, barely holding on as cas continues to press his mouth against him and slowly shoving him up the wall further, wanting, _needing_ more. dean is scrambling to catch up, threads his fingers through cas’s hair, pulling and tugging. 

cas starts licking and sucking on dean’s throat again and dean lets out another moan. 

“cas…” dean groans, head falling back against the wall. 

cas hums in response, still working away at the mark on dean’s neck. 

“are we… d-do you… are you sure you want to do this?” dean huffs out in between breaths, gulping for air. because fuck, one minute they were just two guys refusing to talk to each other and the next dean is itching to get his hands down cas’s pants. 

“god, _yes,_ dean,” his voice is muffled, making dean’s skin buzz, but the nerves in his stomach grow tighter, nicer, “didn’t drag you here just to sit and _watch_ you,” he’s back on dean’s neck for the nth time that night, sucking and kissing and dragging his lips along the curve of dean’s throat, towards his jaw. he wants to bite him, claim him, make sure he knows that this, for cas, isn’t a one time thing. he doesn’t fucking want it to be, doesn’t know if he could handle losing this.

“legs,” he hoists dean up again, reaches to yank one of his thighs up, then shoving him back into the wall, hips jutting forward to hold dean up a little more, a little easier. he can’t get enough of the taste of dean, the feeling of his skin on his tongue. he just wants more, more, more.

dean audibly gasps as cas accidentally brushes their hips together, the back of his head colliding with the cracked and chipping walls. he thinks he’s seeing stars, flings his arms around cas’s neck, desperately holding on for support. 

there’s skin and sweat and teeth and spit and it’s so good, so messy that dean lets out a low little moan, his legs wrapping completely around cas’s hips, gripping him as tight as he can, pulling him close. he wants to feel him, needs to feel him closer, needs to feel _skin_. he’s reaching down with one hand, yanking cas’s dress shirt from where it’s tucked into his pants, pushing his hand beneath the fabric. 

“need t’— _feel_ you, need—” he’s grown desperate, yanking at the dress shirt so hard that one of the buttons pops, and he thinks he might fucking cry, it’s so much, so good. _too_ good.

“dean.” cas is pushing dean’s shirt up and off his head, discarding it on the floor with a low, vibrating noise. he presses his palm to castiel’s bare stomach, almost cries because it’s been so long since he felt the skin of someone he really cared for. he wants more, wants to feel all of cas, never wants it to fucking stop.

the hunter’s reaching to grab at cas’s pants but—cas has beat him to it, has somehow gotten his hand between them, is rubbing his hand in slow, languid motions over dean’s cock.

dean moans, voice breaking, and throws his head back against the wall. “ _fuck_ , cas—” dean has no clue how cas got so good at this from the short time he was human, knows he hasn’t been with anyone since april. but he doesn’t question it. 

cas continues to work his fingers at dean through his jeans, his nails dragging gently up the material of his pants. he loosens his hold on dean, lets him drop into a standing position. he finally, _finally_ , unzips dean’s pants and dean hurries to step out of them, taking his boxers down with them in one fluent motion.

a moment passes and dean is left breathless, standing completely naked against the wall. his breath catches as cas’s eyes loom over him, examining every inch of him at a painstakingly slow rate. it makes dean’s finger twitch at his sides, wanting to just reach out and pull cas back to him. 

“you’re so beautiful.” cas’s words almost echo around the motel room, sending a wave of shivers over dean. what the fuck is he supposed to say to that? thanks?? he can feel the blood rising to his face as cas approaches. something about the way dean was standing, waiting, completely bare while cas was fully clothed. watching him… _fuck._

dean’s gaze rose to meet cas’s, their eyes locking. the ex-angel’s eyes were dark, filled with want, desire. longing. 

“you know, you’re pretty good looking yourse—” dean’s cocky comment is cut off when cas scoops him up, off the floor, back to the wall. dean is clutching to him, hanging on. cas leans the boy back against the wall, a smirk on his lips. 

“like those noises,” cas muses, gripping dean’s thighs with surprising strength. god, they’re probably going to bruise, and cas can’t even think about that right now, can’t process the fact that he’s already marked dean, permanently. “aren’t forced, really—” he tips his chin down to look dean in the eyes, to really look at him, “love how you sound,”

then they’re kissing again, but this time it’s more, it’s teeth and tongue and cas thinks he can taste blood, fucking _moans_ because of it. his hips are rolling, pressing harder against dean, craving more friction. his body’s screaming for more, and he wants to take it, wants to make dean fucking cry. he’s wanted this for _so_ long. but he.. needs to hold back. for now, at least.

he’s still in all of his clothes, and dean _whines_ , all high and drawn out, reaching for cas’s belt and tugging needily at the leather.

he needs him fucking _now_ , doesn’t care that it’s embarassing, that it contradicts his every day demeanor. he needs cas to fuck him, opens his mouth to beg. before he can even make a fucking noise, there’s something wet prodding at dean’s hole, and he realizes— _cas is holding him up with one arm_. he’s pinning him to the wall with his hips and holding him upright with one hand, his other hand between them, slick with spit and so steady that dean whimpers.

then the finger’s pushing in, and he’s practically mewling in response to the intrusion, tears in his eyes because he feels so exposed, so fucking vulnerable. it’s scary because he knows cas doesn’t care, knows cas is just as far gone as he is, knows he _wants_ this just as much. dean hadn’t realized how much he’d needed this.

cas can feel dean through his jeans, can feel how fucking _hard_ he is, how worked up he already is, just from a finger, from a little prepping.

dean’s trying to work his hips down onto cas’s hand, squirming and bucking and making little noises. he’s so desperate that cas almost laughs, has to bite back his smile.

“more, cas, ple-ease, ple—” 

he’s _begging_ . dean winchester, one of the strongest, scariest hunters in the country, is begging for castiel, former angel of the lord. and he sounds _damn_ good begging, whining little “pleases” and broken words, but he still sounds like dean. but castiel likes this better, likes how he sounds, how little he looks.

“what was that?” cas tries, raising an eyebrow at dean, drinking in the high of seeing dean fall apart under him. he’s got two fingers in him already and cas pushes deeper, gets ready to push another third finger in, but—

“ _please_ ,” dean almost sobs, wriggling around trying to push down harder on cas’s fingers. “cas. ple-e— ease, _fuck me_ . ‘m good, just- _please._ ” 

cas halts for half a second before pulling his fingers out, dean’s hole constricting around nothing. 

“duffle bag,” dean gasps, reading cas’s mind and motioning a hand at the duffle lying on the bed. cas sets dean down gently, making sure he can stand okay before walking over to ruffle through the contents of the bag. he pulls off his shirt as he walks back to dean, condom and lube in hand. cas unzips his pants, moves to push them down but dean grabs his wrist.

“leave them on,” dean croaks, voice already a mess. cas complies, giving dean a chaste kiss before tearing the condom packet open and rolling it on. the lube bottle flips open with a ‘pop’ and dean closes his eyes with a content sigh. cas pauses.

“how… how should we go about this,” cas asks, a deer caught in the headlights. 

dean hurriedly yanks the bottle of lube from him, squeezes it into his hand and then reaches down, sloppily spreads it across cas’s cock, desperate for anything. _anything_. cas is so hard that his tip is an angry red, tinted with purple and dean needs him, needs cas. cas gasps as dean’s hand wraps around him, the noise causing goosebumps to rise on dean’s skin. 

“plea-se, jus’.” he’s gonna cry, oh _god_ , dean’s gonna cry and he doesn’t want to, is desperately trying to pull cas forward, trying to bring him close so that he can just get _inside_ already and when-- when cas’s tip catches on his hole, pushes at it a little, he thinks he’s gonna go insane, “fu-uck me, _please_ , cas. fuck, _fuck_.”

and when cas starts to push in, dean’s head feels so heavy, it might be the alcohol, but all he can concentrate on the stretch. fuck, it feels so _good_. he stops trying to hold his tears back, stops squirming, stops trying to stay quiet, and-- he just lets go.

cas bottoms out and holds for a few moments, letting dean adjust. dean takes a few gasping breaths, feeling himself get stretched open, head spinning. cas is big, really fucking big, and this is an adjustment for him, but-- he likes it, likes this. he can feel cas deep in his tummy and he wants more, wants it harder. wants to feel bruised from the inside out. fuck the lamia, fuck needing to walk and sprint around tomorrow in a hunt, he needs this. 

“‘m good,” dean grunts out. that’s all cas needs and he’s pulling out and _slams_ into dean. dean lets out a shout in response as cas pulls out again and pounds back into him, finding a steady yet sloppy rhythm, the drinks from earlier not helping. deans moans and grunts are bouncing off the walls, feeling the room with obscene noises and he knows the entire floor can hear but he doesn’t care. 

the walls aren’t steady, and with each thrust, dean can feel them shaking, can see the shitty motel paintings on the wall just beside them shaking, bouncing with each thrust.

it’s so fucking _much_ , and dean’s eyes are squeezing shut, his hand flying to grip cas’s wrist where it’s holding his thigh. he can’t hold in the noises, can’t even fucking focus on that right now because it’s so good, and cas is slamming into his prostate, sending him wheeling, crying. his cheeks are slick with tears and he thinks he might pass out if cas doesn’t let up, can’t think about anything but cas, cas, cas. his hands, his skin, his _cock_ , he-- 

dean’s world had turned into nothing but castiel, _nothing_ but him.

“right there, _fuck_ , ple- _ease_ , i-fuck,” dean starts babbling, doesn’t even process half of the things coming out of his mouth as cas slams into him repeatedly, shoving deeper, filling him up. cas pants as he fucks into dean, one hand gripping his thigh tightly and the other on his ass, kneading and pulling and squeezing.

“i-i’m— fuck, ‘m close,” dean manages to choke out. he can’t _focus_ , fuck.

“so am i.” cas’s thrusts become sloppier as he gets closer, rides higher. 

dean’s fingernails are digging into cas’s back, sure to leave marks later. cas watches in awe as dean’s mouth falls open. he clenches around him, eyes screwed shut tight, a string of curses falling from his mouth. dean yells, shaking and trembling, grabbing onto cas.

dean’s watching cas lose it, still wheeling from his own orgasm, and it’s so— _so_ fucking good. his eyes are rolling back, shutting, and his hips are bucking up and into dean. his head falls back, bounces off the wall with a painful _thunk_ , but he can’t find it in himself to care, is surging forward and kissing castiel hard. it’s messy and dean’s shaking, trembling because cas is still in him, still filling him up. 

when they pull away, dean’s eyelids are drooping, and he looks like he’s passed out, is just waking up.

“can… can you stand?” cas whispers after a few moments, eyes still trained on deans face. he looks beautiful. completely fucked out, hair pointing in opposite directions, lips and neck bruised purple, cum smeared on his stomach. cas waits, letting dean catch his breath.

“fuck,” dean laughs, reaches to wipe away the remaining tears. he hates that he cried, that— that _never_ happened with girls. fuck. “after that? man we’d be lucky if i can even sit down.” cas chuckles, relieved that the tension between them earlier has dissolved. 

“here.” cas quickly shook his pants off of his ankles so he wouldn’t trip. he scoops dean back up again, dean’s arms flying out to wrap around cas’s neck. cas carefully drops dean on the bed. he laughs a little as soon as his head hits the cushion, tired and obviously worn out. 

it’s cold outside of the covers, but they don’t get in, just lay there for a second, skin bare.

dean’s stomach is still… dirty, and they’re both avoiding it. cas’s legs are shaky, but he gets up, ambles over to the gross motel bathroom and grabs a wad of toilet paper. classy, right? it’s not like motels provide washcloths, this is… the best he can do for now. he comes back and wipes it up, grinning when dean jerks a little. he’s _ticklish_ , holy shit. cas finds himself smiling, really, _really_ wide.

he doesn’t do anything, but when he turns away to go and throw the clump of toilet paper--

dean’s got him by the waist, is pulling him back towards the bed, smiling and laughing. 

“jus’.. put it on the floor,” he says quietly, tugs cas close again, and… he looks so desperate for that, for cas to stay and not leave and he can’t just… leave him. cas rolls his eyes and climbs onto the bed, the mattress dipping where his knees are, throwing him a little off balance. dean just hums and tugs cas down so they’re lying next to each other.

“cas?”

“hmm?” cas blinks his eyes open-- he hadn’t realized they had fallen closed. they’re close enough that cas could count all of dean’s freckles if he wanted to, it feels like they have all the time in the world.

“this.... this is okay right?” dean mumbles into cas’s chest. cas felt a twinge of emotion in his core. he had always thought about this, had dreamed about this and still hadn’t processed that dean was here with him. in his arms. it never occurred to him that this could be weird, he had imagined it so much that it always just seemed so _right_. 

“of course, dean.” dean doesn’t say anything back, just smiles. 

they fall asleep like that, too tired to get under the covers but too content to care. as long as they have one another, it’s nice enough, warm enough. 

that night cas dreams of green and tan skin, of freckles and scars that look like constellations. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so, so much for reading !
> 
> hey !! scoot here :D we have been hard at work on this fic for a few weeks now (we have 40 pages of it written up in google docs? help. the finale broke us.), but i'm so happy to finally be sharing it w the world ! we have some lightly confusing, garbled plans for this, but.. this is the most i've written in literal years, and i'm so happy to say i made an amazing friend doing it! this is us rewriting the ending to our liking, being a Little (very) horny to cope with the shit that kripke made us endure, and that's okay ! i hope you can enjoy this ending with us, though it's before 15x18 and all of that s15 shit, i hope you love this as much as i do! i hope that the drip never stops with this story, and i hope we can give it the wrapping up it deserves ! also, as i'm writing this, it's jenmish day. LAUGHS. im done listening to the tl. ITS CANON i cant handle this anymore I Say It's Canon. BUT ASIDE FROM THAT!! please enjoy, and feel free to give any feedback needed ! i hope to see again soon !
> 
> meech here ! again what was said above, thanks for reading so far i'm super excited to see where we go with this. it's sort of a we're making it up as we go type of thing but we also have some ideas we're very excited to write later down the storyline ! hope you guys have as much fun coping with the finale by reading this as we are while writing it. we really said we're gonna create an atmosphere that's so gay... i'm also writing my note at a reasonable time of day unlike scoot if you couldn't tell but enjoy :D


	2. one monster, extra crispy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they wake up after their night together, and—
> 
> it happens again.

there’s this ringing, and it won’t stop. 

he was dreaming, having a _good_ dream for fucking once, but— it’s interrupted by a distant, _constant_ , beeping. a noise dean recognizes as his damned phone alarm. sometimes, he hates sammy for getting him one of those. so useful. so _annoying_. 

he’s reaching for it, tapping on the screen with closed eyes until it stops. dean falls back onto the bed, heaving a sigh because he—he should be getting dressed right now. an alarm going off means he has a monster to kill. he blinks his eyes open and his breath catches in his throat. cas’s face is smushed into the pillow next to him, one leg hiked up like it had been wrapped around dean for the remainder of the night. his mouth is slightly parted and his stomach is rising and falling steadily. dean feels something rise in his chest as he leans over and kisses cas’s forehead because, _shit_ , he can do that now. can he?

cas stirs, face burrowing deep into the pillow as he tries to open his eyes, tries to fight the sunlight. god, it’s so fucking bright out, and it . 

“g’morning sunshine,” dean smiles. he feels light and airy, like he’s floating. 

“hello.” a smile stretches across cas’s face. they look at each other for a moment, blue on green, almost as if they can’t believe the situation they’re in. 

“um,” dean laughs a little, then blood’s rushing to his face, and he’s trying to talk, stuttering. “i— i think we’re supposed to—uh, meet..” he looks at cas, how fucking _good_ he looks in the morning, and almost rolls his eyes. he’s fucking _human_ , and he still looks like a damn angel. “we gotta, uh — meet sammy for breakfast at 7, so… we should _probably_ think about that soon.”

“soon,” cas hums and pulls at dean’s arm, yanks dean on top of him.

dean giggles—fucking _giggles_ — and props himself up on his elbows to look down at cas. he leans in to press his lips against the ex-angel’s. it tastes a bit like morning breath, dean thinks, a bit like the cocktail cas had last night, but he doesn’t really care. he just.. can’t get over the feeling of it. of this. fuck.

“we only have a half-hour, cas…” 

cas shoots him a shit-eating grin, hands moving across dean’s skin, making him jolt, shiver. 

“30 minutes ? i wonder how we’ll fill the time…” cas tilts his head up, capturing dean’s lips in another kiss. 

dean rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue. hell, he’s never productive in the morning. this’ll definitely… be a first, especially for him. 

he smiles into the kiss, mouth falling open easily as cas pushes his tongue in. he's eager, but gentle, makes sure to give him time to wake up, to acclimate. dean’s groaning, letting his eyes close, letting himself focus on the feeling. this… this isn’t something they’ve ever done before. they kissed last night, _yeah_ , but this— this is gentle. soft. _intimate_ , and dean wants to cry a little bit. he feels warm, comfortable, leaning into cas, holding his waist for support.

he forgets his emotions when cas’s hands get tighter on his waist, when he can feel cas getting hard under him, _already_.

he has no clue when cas became so… _interested_ in all this. cas, former fucking _angel of the lord_ , into _foreplay_? cas’s hands are on his skin, going down and down and dean thinks he might be trembling, and they— they haven’t even _done_ anything. his palms are warm, and they they’re on dean’s ass, and they’re squeezing _hard_ , making him jolt.

cas knows what he’s doing, knows how this affects dean, and after last night? dean’s about to keel over. it’s sore, but he feels good, stomach turning and knotting up.

dean pushes back into cas’s hands, wanting, _needing_ more. he’s so fucking strong, and dean watches the way cas’s arms bulge when he tightens his grip, the way his muscles move under his skin. he’s whimpering, mumbling as he braces on cas’s bare chest, his voice bending and cracking as he tries to talk, tries to say _something_. he’s so tired, but he likes it, likes how out of it he feels. last night wrecked him, crushed his mask to bits, and he— he can’t even think about going through a whole day now, can’t think about living without cas touching him like this. 

“god… there’s so many things i wanna do to you,” cas whispers, but dean hears it loud and fucking clear, almost shouts for cas to please, _please_ , just do it, do all of them. all of the things.

but dean just lets out another breathless moan, pushes back into cas’s hands, trying to formulate words, but— failing, _miserably_. fuck. the mere implication that there would be time to do more things together, to explore each other’s bodies. he thinks he might be glitching, can’t reply fast enough. 

“ _fuck_ , cas, me too… we.. f- _ah_ \- we ne—eed, need t’—,” they need to be quick, need to finish this _yesterday_ . he’s scared of sam, what he’ll say, what he would _do_ , and— part of him knows that sam is open-minded, knows that he wouldn’t care, but… the part of him that john got to, the ruined, terrified corner of his psyche is yelling at him that _sam’s gonna hate him_.

but— one look at cas, at the pure fucking adoration on his face, the _pride_ — he melts, looks at him with wide, almost teary eyes.

“such a shame…” when he speaks, his voice seems to have dropped two octaves, and dean’s head fucking spins. “what should we do, then, baby?”

dean nearly passes out. _baby?_

he can’t seem to put his thoughts together fast enough because he’s grinding down into cas with a new fervor, eyes rolling back a little when he feels cas’s chest rumble, practically buzzing as he groans deep. cas laughs a little under his breath, hands on dean’s ass, pulling him down a little, grinding up.

“i need… _please_ … cas. can i ride you? need t’... feel you, need— _p_ — _lease_ —” he cuts off, practically gasping for breath. 

dean averts his gaze, feels fucking embarrased because he just _begged_. again. 

he feels so small in the motel room all of a sudden, wants the earth to swallow him whole, to cover him and keep him hidden until he feels okay again. but— 

“dean, _look_ at me.” cas is staring at him with those piercing cerulean eyes, is grabbing him gently by the face and making him look forward, look _at_ him. his stomach fucking hurts, he’s so nervous, so fucking embarrassed that he’s making such a big deal out of this. that makes dean shrink down into himself, makes him want to look away from those glacier eyes and run.

but cas runs his fingers over the bruises on dean’s neck, not breaking eye contact, taking a few deep breaths.

maybe— maybe this was a mistake, dean thinks, maybe this was just a drunken lapse in judgement. he feels like he shouldn’t have kissed back, should’ve just pushed cas away and told him he _can’t_ . but he— he _wants_ to, wants to kiss cas and feel his skin and see him smile and— is that so bad? is that— 

cas pulls him forward, kisses dean soft and nice.

and dean _melts_ , lets himself relax, mouth opening wide into the kiss. 

there’s teeth and tongue and spit, and dean feels like this is cas’s way of telling him _it’s okay to be scared_. his way of telling him he isn’t alone, he’s safe.

he’s smiling, and then dean’s smiling too, trying to adjust to scoot his hips back a little, shivering when he feels cas, still hard beneath him. he had forgotten, just for a second, what they were doing, but then his stomach is all tied up again, and he’s making a little, broken noise.

“c’n i—” 

he feels weak and he _hates_ it, rolls his hips a little, tries not to whine.

cas looks so good beneath him, and dean thinks he’s gonna cry again, so many sensations, so many feelings. he doesn’t usually let himself feel like this.

the lube is on the nightstand, and cas is already reaching for it, flicking the lid open. he slicks dean up quickly, finishing with a soft squeeze that makes dean’s eyes roll back, moves to spread the remaining lube on his own cock and—

before dean can grab the lube out of cas’s hands, cas is already squeezing more onto his two outstretched fingers, guiding dean so he’s leaned forward a bit, so that he’s lifted up and cas can reach his hole. 

dean can feel cas’s fingertips prodding at his entrance, can feel them pushing in, and— the way they stretch him out, make him feel full... dean might fucking pass out. he’s wondering when the _fuck_ cas learned to do this during his time as an angel because here he was, grinning beneath him with a finger shoved up dean’s ass. do angels finger themselves? had cas— _his_ cas, angel of the lord, doesn’t-know-how-humans-work cas— ever done this to someone else? 

dean’s stomach goes a little cold when he thinks of that, and he’s _itching_ to touch cas, to mark him, to— to claim him as his own. he needs it, needs to feel him or he’s gonna start crying, gonna go crazy.

“cas-” he knows he sounds breathless and whiny but, fuck, dean doesn’t care anymore. “ _please_ le—et me _touch_ you.” 

cas looks up at him, eyebrows raised. _fuck_ , that stare. dean thinks he’s seeing stars. 

there’s another finger pressing into him, and then a third soon after, and dean’s leaning forward, mouth connecting to the skin of cas’s bare chest, to his collarbones and his neck and his jaw and then his _mouth_ . he’s rocking back on cas’s thick fingers, whimpering when they curl, when they hit that fucking _spot_ . and, _fuck_ , cas catches that little noise, his smug little smirk turning to a big, stupid grin.

cas pulls his fingers out, pauses for a moment as his eyes fall to his hands. his smile falters, and for a second dean wonders if he did something wrong, then— cas is holding his three fingers up in front of dean’s face, and he looks _so_ focused, like he isn’t sure if this is the right thing to do, like he wants this to be perfect.

dean blinks. “dude. what are y-” 

“open.”

“wha- what do you mean _o_ -” 

cas tilts his head, stare hardening. that shuts dean up. 

dean obliges, slowly opening his mouth. then there’s fingers on his tongue, filling up his mouth, pushing down on the back of his tongue. he gags just a little bit, but when cas moves to take his fingers out, dean grabs his wrist, pushes his hand further in. the lube is strawberry flavoured, and dean’s found that he likes the taste, likes to lick it off of his toys after he uses them.

dean hums happily, swirling his tongue around cas’s fingers, wants to clean them off. to be good. 

cas is just staring down at dean, watching him suck at his fingers, and with every swipe of dean’s long tongue, cas’s breath seems to catch in his throat. dean isn’t the only one enjoying this, and it’s so, _so_ obvious. his front teeth graze cas’s knuckle, and cas inhales audibly, pulling his fingers out of dean's mouth quickly. 

dean pouts before he can stop himself. his dignity flew out the window a _long_ time ago, especially with cas. 

“we have to be fast,” god, cas’s morning voice is so deep, so nice, so _pleasing_ to dean’s ears that he practically fucking keens, “sam is probably waiting…” 

“yeah, yeah,” dean cuts cas off with a kiss, “gimme y’r worst.” 

cas’s eyebrows furrow and his face twists together in confusion, pulling away, reaching to hold dean’s face gently. “why would i want to do that? dean, i always want the best for you.” 

he sounds so _sincere_ and dean rocks back, lets out a loud laugh. cas is still peering up at him, oblivious to the reason behind dean’s little outburst. he’s still learning human phrases, sometimes has trouble understanding the concept of sarcasm, and dean thinks it’s the cutest fucking thing in the world.

“oh my god… _cas…_ ” dean gets out in between fits of giggles. “i.. i’ll- i c’n explain later.” 

cas doesn’t seem very satisfied with that answer but doesn’t protest when dean leans down to kiss his cheek, still smiling widely. in between kisses dean reaches down and wraps his hands around cas’s cock. 

cas _growls_ into the kiss, sending a shudder through both of them. dean continues to pump cas in between sloppy kisses, the pair quickly getting restless. their breathing becomes ragged and the kisses get messier, soon they’re just panting into each other’s mouths as dean jerks cas off while cas meets him in the middle with fast, short thrusts upwards. 

“dean i think—i think… i’m gonna…” cas is a mess. his chest is heaving, some hair sticking to his forehead. dean has no idea how they’re going to look presentable for breakfast. 

“yeah.. yeah, me—metoo, _fuck_ .” dean pushes himself up a bit, arms shaking slightly. dean positions himself over cas’s cock, and he thinks he’s gonna drool, can feel himself losing his grip on what he’s doing. once he’s lined up, he spares a glance at cas and, _fuck,_ it sounds cheesy, but… honest to god, dean’s heart stops. his eyes are so, _so_ blue, and he looks happy— content. dean might be spacey, but— cas is fucking beautiful, and he... he doesn't know how he hasn't purposefully _looked_ at him like this before. it's always been stolen glances, silent wishes. never this. god, never _this_. he fucking loves _this_.

the pair stare at each other, frozen in place, forgetting they’re on a time crunch as the reality of what they’re about to do for the _second_ time in 24 hours kicks in. 

“you okay?” dean whispers, voice shaky and eyes wide. 

“yes. _yes_ , dean.” cas looks up at him with the fondest look on his face, and dean _melts_. 

they share one last, sweet kiss before dean lowers himself down onto cas. the stretch is white-hot, but dean likes it, and he forgot how different a real cock feels, how long and hot and drawn out it is when there’s someone else there. fuck, he loves this. cas is pretty fucking big, too, and by the time dean’s fully seated on cas’s hips, his thighs are shaking _so_ hard.

he’s rolling his hips, seeing how it feels when he moves them forward and back, side to side. he manages to lift himself, and when he pushes back down, he’s got his eyes squeezed shut, is letting out a broken little moan because— even though cas prepped him, even though he was stretched out, the fit is still so fucking _tight_ , and it’s so, so good.

cas’s hands fall into place on dean’s hips as dean starts to move, up and down, moaning and moaning and fucking _moaning_.

“cas… h— _cas…_ c’mon, need—need _more_ ,” the hunter huffs, lines creasing his forehead in concentration. his thighs are burning, but he needs to feel more, needs it faster and harder and messier.

“you sure?” cas asks, concern thick in his voice as he pants, neck craning to try and see dean’s face more clearly. 

dean can’t _speak_ , just nods frantically, trying to steady his breathing. 

and, _god_ , cas doesn’t think he’s ever moved faster. his grip on dean’s hip tightens, and he’s bucking his hips up into him. the muscles in his arms flex, move beneath the skin, and—dean’s grabbing at his arm, other hand flying to brace on the ex-angel’s chest. he wants to shout, wants to thank cas, to beg him, but— every time he tries to speak it comes out a weak, broken moan.

they find a steady rhythm, dean trying his best to bounce, to move as cas bucks up into him. he can feel cas’s fingernails digging into his sides, can feel his hot breath fanning across his collarbone.

dean is screwing his eyes shut, unconsciously clenches around cas’s cock after each thrust, desperate to stay full. and, when he— when he’s bottomed out, he clenches, and cas lets out a deep, ear-piercing moan, head falling back against the white pillows with a _thump_. 

dean’s hips falter at the noise because— what the _fuck_ , who knew cas could be so loud? could sound so fucking _good_ ? for a second, dean thinks he might come on the spot. god, this— this is so much, maybe too much, and dean’s going to cry again, he can feel the warmth behind his eyes, the faint sting. fuck, _fuck_ , oh god.

he kisses from the end of cas's shoulder towards his neck, breaking off every so often to let out little moans. dean continues to trail upwards, ending at cas’s mouth where they slot their lips together. 

it feels so normal already, to be here— like _this_ — with each other. 

only one night in and they fit together perfectly, have already found which way to turn their heads into the kiss, it feels easy, like they’ve been doing this their whole lives. like this was meant to be, since day fucking _one_.

cas reaches down to grab at dean’s ass, and he presses his face into cas’s neck, his fresh stubble tickling cas a bit. cas squeezes the flesh painfully hard when dean lets out a particularly loud moan because, _fuck,_ dean’s mouth is _right_ next to cas’s ear and it’s ten times louder. but that squeeze only makes dean moan _more_ , makes him frantically try to fuck down on cas faster, harder. 

their pace picks up and dean’s hips are shaking, stuttering. 

he pulls himself upright, trying to fucking _breathe_ as he chases climax, head starting to grow heavy. his moans are getting shorter, louder, hiccupping with each of cas’s thrusts up and dean’s got tears in his eyes, it’s so good. he’s gonna come soon, and cas knows, bracing on his thigh, fucking up into him _hard_ , harder than before. 

cas hits home and dean’s fucking wheeling, seeing stars as he twitches, sucks in a broken breath and comes.

but— _cas doesn’t stop_ , keeps fucking into him as he rides out his orgasm, then, with one last, deep stroke, he’s cumming, letting dean fall limp atop him.

they stay there for a few minutes, catching their breath. a beat, then—

“breakfast,” cas grunts out, dean still lying on top of him. 

“shit— am i squashing you?” dean laughs a bit and rolls off him, hand moving to rub up cas’s chest. cas rolls his eyes and tugs dean back, closer and dean beams. “but yeah, _fuck_ , you’re right. what was the name of the diner again?”

“a taste of heaven?” 

“yeah, that one… ugh,” dean knows they should probably shower, but he doesn’t _want_ to, knows they don't have enough time for that. “my ass hurts.” dean pouts, hugging closer to cas. he chuckles, shakes his head. 

“you asked for it. dude.” 

“oh my god,” dean hides his face in cas’s chest, heat rushing to his cheeks. “i’m so sorry that i called you dude in the middle of all that, this— this is just… _new_ for me.”

“no, dean, i understand. i hope that joke didn’t make you feel uncomfortable.” 

“shit, no, _no_ , it didn’t,” dean rushes, talking over the fallen angel, “i just… yeah.” dean internally groans, he hopes he didn’t make anything awkward he doesn’t know if he could handle the stress of figuring out what the fuck he just did with his best friend and the added weight of not being able to talk to him. 

“but we should really get going,” dean continues. cas nods and pushes himself off the bed and starts picking up the clothes that were thrown on the floor the evening before. 

dean _tries_ to do the same. he swings his legs off the bed, moves to stand up, but— he’s too shaky, can’t get his knees to stay strong and he sways when he pushes himself to his feet, wavers, then— falls, knees giving out completely.

“dean?” cas sounds panicked, but dean waves him off from the floor. 

“‘m fine! _shit_.” cas is kneeling in front of him, obviously trying to hide a smile but not doing it very well. the fucker. 

“i guess getting fucked against a wall doesn’t help with stability,” dean jokes and winces slightly as he stands up. cas is about to speak but dean points a finger at him.

“talk later. we’re gonna be _late_.”

five hurried minutes later and they’re out the door, duffle bag chock-full of equipment and slung over cas’s shoulder. dean had made a fuss about wearing a scarf, but… cas was right, he’d rather show up to breakfast with it _on,_ instead of his bare neck, those fucking purples and red marks. 

not to mention, it was fucking _freezing_ outside. 

dean glances at cas in the mirror as they pull up to “a taste of heaven,” praying that sam lost his vision last night, maybe got cursed, because—

othey really do look like they’d been through hell last. cas’s hair couldn’t seem to flatten itself and dean’s lips were bruised beyond compare, but matched nicely with the marks on his neck. not to mention he had a fucking limp. dean winchester, feared by angels and demons alike, limping around and wincing with each step he took. it hadn’t been this bad at first, he had just been complaining to complain, but— his lower back hurt like a _bitch_ , and he felt so shaky, so unbalanced. every step made his thighs burn. 

they go into the diner, one after another, and dean’s trying _so_ hard not to walk weird.

they find sam quickly. he’s got his nose buried in his laptop, a cup of black coffee tucked between his hands, hair back in a little ponytail. 

“he looks like a fuckin’ bean pole,” dean whispers and cas steps on his foot. they’re too busy squabbling that they don’t even realize sam’s watching them, eyebrows high as they settle down in their seats.

“good night, you two?” sam smiles to himself as dean chokes on his water and cas’s eyes widen. yes, sam had his suspicions, but he wasn’t _deaf_. he was definitely not expecting to return to the motel to loud thumps against the wall to his right, to deep groans through the wall. sure, sam had suffered through a lot in the past—dean isn’t unfamiliar with the term “hookup.” 

but what he wasn’t expecting to hear was a loud groan from the opposite wall that sounded a _hell_ of a lot like their friend— their _newly human_ angel friend, cas. he wasn’t certain until he heard a very clear, very _loud_ “cas!” through the thin walls of the motel. he went for a drive after that, and when he got back, mercifully, it was quiet.

sam watches the pair try to remain civil at his comment, has to fight a smile because they’re being so, _so_ obvious. 

“y— _yeah_. bar was cool. they played nirvana, i think,” dean manages to get out, cheeks a little flushed. and, damn it, sam couldn’t bring himself to tell them that he knew. 

“well, i’m glad it was cool!” he wheels on cas then, shoots him a bitter smile, “i lost the lamia.”

fuck, dean didn’t know that cas had called sam, and then they went to leave— cas hadn’t been thinking clearly, just wanted to get out of there. he forgot he called sam, forgot that he panicked and told him dean was seconds from fucking the lamia, and if sam’s acting like this—

does he know? does he know what they were doing last night?

he doesn’t look upset, he just looks— disgruntled, a little bitchy, but not really _upset_.

castiel doesn’t know what he’s meant to say, just shoots sam a sorry look, tries to ignore the confusing, human emotions gripping him by the throat. 

the waitress comes and takes their orders, and they sit in almost silence, save from the rustling of papers, the clack of his keyboard. 

“so,” sam clears his throat and dean startles, snapping out of his little trance. he had finished his food before all of them watching cas pick at the tablecloth. “it seems like the lamia has been going to more bars lately—like the one you guys were at.” dean and cas exchange a glance.

“but… there might actually be _two_ .” sam points to his laptop that was balancing dangerously on all the papers. dean nodded, taking a scan of the information on the website and—yeah, it did seem like it would be a lot of work for a single lamia. to snatch that many people at once would take time, skill. most lamia are just _hungry_. 

“thankfully, it looks like there are no new reports from this morning, meaning the lamia—or _lamias_ —didn’t take anyone last night, which is… a bit odd,” sam’s thinking out loud by the end of his sentence, fingers sliding across his laptop’s trackpad. 

“maybe it’s a _holiday,_ or something,” dean suggests, smiling a bit at his own joke. he looks over at cas to gauge his reaction, but cas stares back at him quizzically. he doesn’t get it. sam looks like he didn’t even fucking _hear_ him, brows furrowed as he studies something on his screen. he looks worried when he does that. dean fucking hates it, hates how personally invested sam gets in every single one of their cases. he understands, people’s lives are at stake, but— when it puts sammy in danger, part of him would prioritize sam. 

the waitress comes back with their orders, setting the food down in front of them. she has to arrange everything _around_ sam’s meticulous layout, and cas almost moves some of the papers to make room, but freezes when sam looks at him.

dean gets a disgustingly greasy egg-and-bacon sandwich, takes a large bite out of it as soon as it’s set down in front of him. he pretends he doesn’t see sam’s disapproving stare, because—who fucking _cares_ if it’s bad for him, it tastes good, and to him, greasy food is a hangover cure.

does it make him feel nauseous? sometimes, when the hangover’s bad. but it tastes _so_ good. 

they eat in silence. it isn’t an uncomfortable silence, but it’s not… _comfortable._ the air between sam and dean is thick with an unspoken tension, and dean’s trying so hard so convince himself that he doesn’t know. he _can’t_ know, right? cas is bouncing his leg up and down under the table, and every so often his knee knocks into dean’s. every time it happens, dean startles, tenses.

sam continue to scroll on his laptop, looking at the two every so often. but not making any comments or jokes, which is… _weird._ sam loves to tease them about little shit like this, _why_ isn’t he doing it now?

sam’s phone vibrates, and the table practically leaps, all three of them jumping a bit at the noise. 

“this is agent hamil…” dean turns his attention to cas as sam chats on the phone. 

“dude,” he hisses under his breath as he swaps his empty plate with cas’s pancake-filled one. cas is human but still hasn’t gotten used to eating at “normal times.” he doesn’t quite see the need to eat three meals each day, when you can just eat whenever you’re 

“something seems up with sam, d’ you think he knows?” 

cas seems to sense dean’s nervousness as his eyes soften and his knee bouncing comes to a slow halt. 

“i’m not sure dean, but i think if sam wanted to tell us something he would.”

“what show have you been watching?” dean scoffs, frowning down at his plate. he knows him and sam haven’t had the best history of communication. looking back over the years, dean has realized that a lot of problems could have been sorted out earlier if the two of them had just _talked_. but they were always caught up in hunts, someone always seemed to be dying, there was just never enough time. 

“well, i’m sure that sam is focused on tracking down the lamia, perhaps if he does have anything to tell us he will tell us after.” 

cas sneaks a bite of pancake from dean’s plate as sam hangs up the phone. dean smacks cas’s elbow. 

“so get this. apparently, there’s been two new reports in the past hour, both about 20 miles from here.” he looks worried, a little defeated, “maybe something got in the way of them feeding last night?” he glances at cas for half a second, maybe _less_ , and cas pretends not to see it. he does, though, he sees it and he’s thinking and he can’t stop. 

“we should probably head back to the bar— see what went down, and why the lamia couldn’t feed.” sam started packing up his things and dean glanced over at cas, eyes widening. he was connecting the dots. 

dean leaves a few bills on the table as they head out, wincing again as he stands up and follows sam at a distance so he can whisper to cas.

“okay, so.”

“yeah.” 

“the lamia was trying to get me last night, right? _fuck_.” 

“i believe so…” cas’s eyebrows are knit together as he worked the information together in his head. “i had been suspicious of that woman last night, but—”

“ _woah_ ,” dean hisses, reaches to touch cas’s arm, step closer, “that’s why you made us leave? were you—” his eyes go a little wider, and he reaches to _grab_ cas’s upper arm, feels him tense a little, “oh my god, were you—” 

“not now, dean.”

“you were _jealous_ !” dean’s smiling a little, almost laughing, briefly forgetting about the screaming pain in his ass because— who makes a (previous) angel of the lord _jealous_?

he says it too loud, but sam’s still walking, and his legs are much longer than theirs. they’re a little bit _too_ far behind, and sam turns to see where they are. is he smiling? he’s fucking smiling, all smug, like he’s just superglued dean’s hand to his beer again, and dean wants to punch him. he said it too loud, and sam must’ve heard him, and he—

he doesn’t really know what to do or how to approach the situation… he’s never been afraid to talk to sam about something like this. 

sam yells at them to hurry up, and they _do_ , wordlessly. 

dean and cas are both quiet, a little shaky, but every time sam’s attention turns away from them, cas’s hand is on dean’s shoulder or lower back, rubbing circles and trying to ease the obvious discomfort on his face.

* * *

they return to the bar late that night, after research and rest and not enough talking.

dean feels like hell the moment the door swings shut behind him, and he can practically feel how tense cas is behind him. all those years, he was trying to ignore his little _thing_ for cas because… it was never the right time for something like that. hell, he’d grown up in a household where liking dudes wasn’t even an option; porn magazines and g-strings were practically shoved down his throat, it’s what he was used to. he’d been with so many women over the years and after cas came along he found himself almost sleeping with women _more_ to try and distract himself. 

he feels like _shit_ for putting cas through that. 

“dean.” cas’s voice is quiet, practically drowned out by the chatter of the bar’s patrons, “are you alright?” 

sam’s across the room, talking to a group of weird guys, flashing his badge and trying to see if they saw the girl that was there yesterday. dean’s back hurts, and he’s trying so hard not to focus on _that_ , wants to help sam find this lamia so they can get the fuck out of here, can go to _bed_.

dean isn’t sure if cas is asking if he’s alright emotionally or physically because he’s been limping around the whole day, but he makes a noise in reply, tries to nod.

but then there’s blonde hair and too-bright lipstick and dean’s stiff, tense because there it fucking _is_ : the lamia. she’s beautiful, her hair is the same as it was the night before, curled just enough so that it doesn’t look too big or too small, so it looks perfect. she was wearing blue yesterday, and today she’s wearing pink— something stringy and uncomfortable-looking. some women’s clothes are pretty, but shit like that? he’s 100% sure they would be functional torture devices. hand a guy one of those weird, strappy tank top things? insane. immediately.

she laughs, too fake, too loud, and sam whirls around, looks at dean with wide eyes.

he just _nods_ back at sam, doesn’t realize he’s reaching to grab at cas’s sleeve until he’s got the fabric between his fingers, until he’s catching one of the threads with his nail.

the lamia turns, sees dean, and— 

she smiles. 

she’s moving through the clusters of people, waving like a fucking idiot, and dean yanks his hand away from cas, tries to school his features into neutrality. she looks so … _happy_ to see him, like he’s an old friend, and when she stops in front of them, lays her eyes on dean, then cas, she frowns.

“hi!” she sounds so fucking _fake_ , cas wants to punch her.

“you disappeared last night,” she pouts, jutting out her bottom lip like she’s a fucking puppy. cas’s stomach is churning, and just looking at her makes him want to scream. fuck, if he had his grace, she would be pink mist by now. 

“i-i uh,” dean’s tripping over his words, freezing up and, fuck, he knows he’s gonna blow their cover any minute because— he’s trying to think of something, _anything_ that isn’t along the lines of ‘oh, yeah. my drunk best friend hauled my ass back to our motel room last night, and proceeded to fuck my brains out.’ but he _can’t_ , so that just turns into a nod, an apologetic expression. fuck, he’s lost his ability to flirt with women.

cas gives him a little nudge, knocking dean back into reality. he makes eye contact with sam over the lamia’s head and sam jabs his thumb behind him, _let’s take this outside._

“i’m sorry, sweetheart!” he forces a smile, a little chuckle, “must have lost track of time,” it’s hard to think of things to say when he can _feel_ cas’s stare boring into the back of his head, can feel the white-hot anger in the air around him. god, he’s so cute when he’s jealous, but dean—

he can’t _think_ about that right now. monster. lives at stake. the whole 9.

“how about we finish what we started yesterday, yeah?” he’s still shooting her that fake, too-kind smile, “lemme show you my _car_ ,” it’s the first thing he can think of, but she looks like she’s willing to go along with it for a meal. 

he snakes a hand around her waist and gives cas a look as they side-step around him, a look that says _don’t worry, it’ll be okay._ he glances around the bar one last time as he leads the lamia out into the fresh air. sam isn’t inside, dean assumes he’s already hiding somewhere out back. 

he tries to loosen up a bit, but he’s sure the lamia can sense his nerves or something while they walk toward the impala. 

“here she is,” dean smiles proudly, and _isn’t_ faking it, because, fuck, in any given situation, he’s always happy to talk about his car. 

“she’s beautiful,” the lamia croons, running her hand along the hood. 

dean’s fingers curl into a tight fist, and he has to stop himself from grabbing her wrist and yanking her hand away. he hates it when people he doesn’t know touch his car, when they act like she’s theirs. plus, she’s probably getting monster juice _all_ over baby. 

“i always fix her myself.” dean shoots her another smile. “i keep her _clean_ , too. spotless. she’s got me through some stuff.”

some monster killing stuff. okay, _mostly_ monster-killing stuff, but he’s not gonna say that. even though he wants to, really wants to wheel on her with a lighter and their makeshift marinade and burn her to the fucking ground but he _can’t_ , not this close to the bar, this close to baby.

he can see sam creeping around the building, likely from somewhere in the shadows, and he’s sure he can hear the rustle of cas’s coat somewhere behind them, but— he doesn’t know how this is gonna go. he could try and grab the lamia, but they’re fast, _strong_ , he doesn’t know if he would be able to hold it for long. he slips his hand into his pocket, feels around for his lighter, and it’s still there. he relaxes, then glances at the lamia, seeing that she’s sizing him up.

“what _kinda_ stuff?” the lamia’s baiting him, trying to make him vulnerable.

“oh, y’know... ” he reaches to wrap his arm back around her waist, pulling her close, all rough and handsy. “ _stuff_.” he shoots her another little smile— that let’s-get-out-of-here, sex smile— and he feels so… different. he doesn’t feel like himself, which is strange he realises, because hooking up with a random chick at a bar is something he should be used to. even hooking up with monsters doesn’t feel too far from normal, he’s slept with far too many.

the lamia places a hand on his chest, and it feels so… wrong. but he forces his smile to get wider, a little more _sultry_. 

she looks at him like he’s a meal, and he realizes with a start that he _is_. 

she literally wants to eat him, wants to drain his body of any and all blood, and—he’s realizing how fucking stupid he’s being, he’s literally pinning a monster to his car this surely can’t end well. dean doesn’t want to be here in front of her and _certainly_ doesn’t want her to continue dropping monster juice on baby. it’s been too long a day and dean’s brain can’t seem to think fast enough like it’s done in the past, his quick wit that usually saves him from getting into situations like this seems to be failing him today. 

she presses her hand into his chest, trying to press him back against the car but he jolts a little, steps away from the impala. he doesn’t want to be pinned, doesn’t want to be so _vulnerable_ , but she’s turning her head to look at him and he realizes that he—

god, he _royally_ fucked up with that move.

then he’s flying through the air, back hitting brick with almost crippling force, and the lamia’s _right_ in front of him, shoving her wrist at his throat to cut his breathing off. her arm hits home and, for a second— just for a _second_ — he’s thrown back to the previous night, to tan hands roaming across his chest, thinks about how good that felt and how horrifically _wrong_ this feels. he remembers how it felt to be shoved around by cas, how nice and limp and _vulnerable_ what was, how much he fucking loved it. he needs to focus on the monster, needs to make sure he’s ready for a fight, but—

he isn’t, he can only think of the way cas felt in him, how full he felt and fuck, now isn’t the time to think about that. dean snaps back into reality as he feels a cool substance run over his skin. 

her fingers, the once delicate, feminine fingers are now long, black claws, and they’re at his jaw, then at his throat.

it feels like a knife, like the tip of a fucking angel blade, and then there’s a painful prick as his throat and it’s gone. he’s turning to see what the lamia’s fucking doing, to see if there’s any weak points or inconsistencies, any way he can get out of this by himself, but— his observation is interrupted by a full, bone-rattling _punch_ to his jaw, and he’s reeling, dizzy. his eyes are shut and he can feel her winding back for another one, he feels like disappearing because— it looks like he’s getting his ass _beat_ by a blonde bitch in hot-pink heels.

he opens his eyes, turns to say something snarky to distract the lamia from hitting him any more, but—

there’s hands, reaching from behind the lamia, grabbing the sides of her head, forcing it to turn at a horrific angle. there’s a sickening _crunch_ , then the lamia’s falling back, letting go of dean. he sees _cas_ behind her, panting, with a furious glint in his eyes. he’s still got the lamia by the head, by her hair, and it’s not anywhere close to dead— a snapped neck just slowed it down a little, made it a little weaker. it’s reaching up at cas, grabbing at his wrist, and… if cas can feel it, he isn’t reacting at all, he has his angry gaze fixed on dean, looking him up and down. he’s making sure he isn’t wounded.

he _tries_ to ignore the swell in his stomach when cas looks at him like that. 

dean turns his head to the opposite side of the impala, sees that sam’s moving from where he was crouched, and he has the salt-rosemary shit in his hand, trying to work the jar open as he approaches.

they were waiting, _ready_ , and that means that… they both saw him zone out, saw him off his game. god, he’s gonna get _shit_ for that later, but now he can’t think about it, is bracing himself on the wall and trying to recover from that fucking _punch_ . he always forgets how strong creatures can be, especially ones like _this_ , ones that look like they couldn’t open a door on their own. 

“sautee the bitch, sammy.” 

he sounds croaky, but sam doesn’t say anything, doesn’t react. he dumps the rosemary mixture on the lamia, looks to dean for the next step. dean is reaching towards his jacket pocket to get the lighter, but— he can’t find it, and.. cas _reaches_ _into dean’s pocket_ , grabs it and flips it open, drops it onto the lamia with one quick flick of the wrist.

she bursts into fucking _flames_ , and—

_they’re still in the parking lot_ , a little past the windows, away from where people can see them, and there don’t seem to be any street cams, but— they’re _still fucking there_ , and there’s a burning body that resembles a woman in front of them and it smells like _shit_ , makes dean want to turn around and hurl. 

they aren’t usually this frantic, this sloppy, with their hunts. it’s been a long time since dean’s had to clean up something like this.

he must look sick, must look like he’s thinking too hard because sam’s covering his nose, shooting him a wide-eyed, worried look over the crackle of the flame—

“i’ll… i’ll take care of it,” 

dean whips around to look at sam but doesn’t fight back, simply gives him a mere nod. he can still feel the sting in his throat, the smoke making its way down, into his lungs. 

he can hear cas breathing just as hard as the man walks over to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. 

“are you alright?” it’s barely audible, barely a whisper but… dean hears it, lets out a sigh.

_fuck,_ cas has been asking him that a lot lately. 

“i… yeah, man. i’m alright.” it’s not a bad thing that cas cares, not a bad thing that he’s trying to make sure he’s okay, but— he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to _react_ to it. dean looks down at the pavement, away from where sam was handling the charred corpse. 

cas gives him that look again, _knows_ dean is bullshitting him, but… he doesn’t want to push him. 

he can’t stay standing for much longer, he realizes. his legs hurt and his lower back aches like a _bitch_. dean turns, then slumps into cas, lets himself relax for the first time that night. he can feel his muscles loosen, feel how sore they are, can feel his feet pressing almost painfully into the ground beneath him. 

they stand like that for a few moments, the cool night breeze ruffling their hair, making dean shudder a bit. cas, surprisingly seems unfazed, has snaked an arm around dean’s waist and his holding him carefully. the door to the bar opens and shuts, people filtering out. a distant chatter fills the air, but— dean doesn’t move away from cas, just presses a little bit closer to him. 

“cas?” dean lifts his head up, looks him in the eyes. his chest tightens a little when green meets blue, and he’s... he feels himself shrinking a bit under cas’s stare. the door to the bar opens again and there’s a few words from afar, and this time, dean steps back.

it’s not that he doesn’t want to be seen— quite the fucking _opposite_ , actually— but he just… there were too many things, too many sensations. he feels like fucking _crying_.

cas looks at dean, assesses him, tries to read his body language. is he upset? 

“i… just… i mean— what are we _doing_ ? where are we going with this?” dean has laced his fingers together, and he’s tugging at his index finger, pulling and rubbing at the skin as he looks at cas, not breaking his gaze, not _wanting_ to look away. 

he watches cas’s face twist in confusion, then soften, like he’s realized something.

a beat passes and dean trips over this thoughts, and— fuck, he shouldn’t have said that, feels like cas thinks he doesn’t want this. cas is probably tired, they just burned a fucking lamia, and—god, _fuck_ . he should have waited longer to ask cas, doesn’t even know if he knows how this whole.. relationship— _thing_ —works. does cas think they’re together now? dean thinks back to all the tv shows and movies he’d seen, where there had been a romantic plot. that’s probably the only experience cas _had_ with this. 

fuck. he’s screwed this up.

he’s shaking in the cold, looking into blue, light and cool. his eyes are calm when he speaks, voice unwavering.

“where we’re supposed to be.” 

**Author's Note:**

> admin 2 (mooch) here ! i can't wait to show you guys the rest of this story, we're still currently writing it but have some good ideas in mind !   
> we really said we're gonna create an atmosphere that's so gay


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